Hands-On Approach
by Taranova
Summary: "Here's the truth. I may have noticed that you're attractive and I may have glanced at you, but it was entirely inappropriate and it will not happen again." Sequel to 'Simple Lessons.' Smutty. Roy/Ed.


**Warnings: **nsfw. oral. kissing. roy/ed.

* * *

After his and Edward's "chat," the colonel makes the false assumption that it's the end of it. He orders him to buy condoms and go bonkers with whomever he wants. And for a while, he assumes that's what happens: Edward is ordered south to oversee a few military operations and Mustang is left to his own domestic dealings. It gets quiet and the colonel forgets about the whole thing, save for the occasional intel indicating that Russel Tringham is communicating with Fullmetal weekly.

Which is. _Fine. _Of course.

(The image of an inexperienced, greedy teenaged boy using Edward as some kind of _toy _to paw at fills him with a subtle kind of revulsion, but it's better than other nightmares. There's a reason he keeps tabs on older military gentlemen with harassment records.)

It's an unusually cold autumn evening when Fullmetal returns on a late train. The trees are a dozen shades more orange than the last time Edward saw them and frost is beginning to dust the grass. Roy is in his private interior office and doesn't expect the major's report until tomorrow, but Ed shows up with a courtesy knock before letting himself in.

Roy is about to make a sarcastic comment and then—stares. The south did him well. The sun brightened his subordinate's skin, hair, to a pure golden sheen that should humble it. He's dressed differently, a white t-shirt but those same black leather pants, boots caked in sand and silt. His hair is loose, slightly wavy from the undone braid, probably a last-minute effort to ward off the cold; he wouldn't have had time to change clothes after the train dropped him off.

His eyes…

Roy feels like there's a wad of cotton lodged in his throat. "Do they all wear eyeliner in the south?"

Edward blinks at him, probably confused at that greeting. Then he crosses over to the desk and throws his report down. Fifty pages of rambling and scribbles. "It's not a fashion statement, Mustang," he snaps. "It's—it doesn't matter what it is." He shivers visibly. Roy can practically feel the chill from his automail all the way over here.

"I want to know."

A groan. "_I like it._ Shove off." The blond folds his arms across his chest and stands there shivering, glaring at him as he waits for him to read his damn report. Dinner and his brother are most likely waiting for him.

"There's a fire going, you know. Warm yourself up. Your lips are blue." They are actually a healthy, soft looking shade of pink, but if he thinks about that they're really going to be in trouble.

"I'm fine."

He tries to tell himself he _doesn't care _what a little sun and fresh air did for his very young and very good-looking subordinate. He picks up the report and thumbs through it, wanting to distract himself from this new challenge life has decided to deal him. Unfortunately the words do little but bounce off of his brain.

Edward has always been…attractive. Objectively speaking. Roy has had the privilege of meeting his father and has seen pictures of his mother, and knows that he inherited the best of them both: Hohenheim's hauntingly golden eyes, Trisha's delicate bone structure. He isn't sure where the shit-eating grin or penchant for violence come from.

Because of his ethereal beauty, it's no secret that Edward could have anyone he wants. What's strange is that it's not clear who that might be. In fact, up until the incident with the (_tasteful_) pin-ups, he suspected the boy might not be interested in romantic relationships at all. He would sooner have believed Edward's engagement to a book.

Beyond all of that, because it's not merely that he's beautiful (though he _is_ beautiful and that terrifies the hell out of him), he is strange and confounding and hypnotically powerful. He is a force of nature in his own right, done things that lesser men can't have even dreamed of, seen darkness and death and come out alive with mere scraps of innocence left.

Roy will be damned if his needs, his _lusts_, burn up the tattered remains of that innocence like paper in a fire. There's no sugarcoating it. If he touches Ed, if he even _thinks _about touching Ed, he will have committed a sin. But right now there's an awful lot of Edward in his thoughts and an awful lot of Edward in this room and he needs a stiff drink.

He swallows. "My mind's a little distracted right now, Fullmetal." He pinches the bridge of his nose and sets the report down. "Is there anything in particular you wanted to discuss? Because if not I would rather go over this tomorrow, if you would be so kind."

Edward's eyes are so heavily intelligent and deeply guarded that it's a wonder anyone can ever look away from him. In the light of the fire they glow a rich bronze. "Not about the report, no. But. There is something I wanted to talk about." He bites his lip briefly, looks at the floor in a subtle moment of doubt.

Roy is afraid to ask. "Is something wrong?"

"I've been thinking a lot," Edward says, absently tugging at a string on the hem of his t-shirt. He's nervous. He shouldn't be nervous. Why is he nervous? "And don't get smart with me and say something snarky. We need to cut the crap here. You look at me a whole damn lot and I know you're not doing it out of professional concern or whatever. So I wanna know what it is you're thinking when you do it."

Oh, hell.

"I don't know what you're talking about," Roy says coolly, though he's intimidated at how confidently Edward has managed to pin him down like this. His first instinct is to play naive. "I don't 'look' at you in any form or fashion, and if you're suggesting that I have any…indecent intentions…"

Edward doesn't back down. "When we talked about the sex thing"—the 'sex thing'?—"there were a couple of times when it seemed like. I don't know. Like you wanted to do the things we were talking about…" He waves a hand at the air as if the memories are being played there.

Roy remembers. He remembers his own reddened face as he discussed the finer points of anal intercourse. He remembers thinking about Edward touching himself. He remembers grabbing his wrist, gently, and imploring him to be safe, be careful, don't let anyone touch you if you don't want them to. Please.

This conversation is over. It was a bad idea to educate him on the matter to start with. "What you are saying is entirely inappropriate, Fullmetal. Frankly I'm shocked that you would even suggest such a thing." The colonel tries to get up out of his chair, intending to open the door and show him out before this can escalate any further. He's already acknowledged to himself that Edward can make his blood hot in more ways than one, but he doesn't need the boy to know it too.

Edward blocks his path, challenging him with impatient and angry golden eyes lined in stark black. "Inappropriate? More inappropriate than you giving me advice on how to fuck myself properly, Mustang? More inappropriate than you sending your dogs to track the guy I might have made out with once?"

Once?

"Then my staring at you would not do much to help my case, then, would it?" Roy snaps, trying to nudge him aside. It's pointless. Edward isn't budging and deep down the colonel doesn't want him to leave anyway. "I don't understand what you're hoping to get out of me. A confession?"

"The truth."

"Then here's the truth," Roy says, and he tries to keep his tone as perfunctory as possible. "I may have noticed that you're attractive and I may have glanced at"—your tight little ass and your sharp collarbones and the way you move like liquid silk—"you, but as I've said, it was entirely inappropriate and it will not happen again, I _assure _you."

"Here's my thought," Edward says, "and you can say no, okay? I just—I was thinking to myself, I'm not guaranteed to ever have this kind of opportunity again. There's always the chance I'm gonna die a virgin and I am _not _giving it up for just anyone. You've had sex. You know how it works. You could teach me, make it good for me, you know?"

Make it good for him? Oh, hell, he would do more than that. He would do all kinds of things he shouldn't even think about. The thought of the blond pressed down against his sheets and writhing up into him and coming for the first time with someone inside of him, every moan hitching on a quiet breath—

"No," Roy says.

"But I've looked into it, I'd be quiet, I'd do whatever perverted screwed-up thing you wanted. Fucking _hell _Mustang, I've wanted you for years as if it weren't completely goddamn obvious. What other excuse do you need to get laid?"

"You are sixteen years old, and—do you even _hear_ the words coming out of your mouth right now—?"

"Sixteen's legal, colonel, and I'm horny as shit and if you don't screw me I'll just find someone who will—"

Roy grabs his wrists gently in both hands, which actually succeeds in making him go still. Suddenly Edward's reasons for coming in like _this _with his hair down and his eyes made up makes a horrible kind of sense. "Listen to me. Listen very carefully: I am not going to have sex with you."

For a moment he actually believes it, actually believes that he's going to do the adult thing (the right thing) and send Edward home and stay here alone with a glass of scotch and a gloved hand and a warm fire licking his skin.

He isn't quite sure who initiates it but he's kissing Edward hard. There's no thought put into it, no logic behind the action, they're mouth to mouth and Edward is _so still _and Roy can smell his skin and hear his own heart beating in his ears. It's not even a kiss so much as it is a brief, violent press of lips and clumsy exchange of tongue, a way to waft pheromones back and forth.

And Edward's pheromones are strong_. _

He's jolted by reality and backs off, wondering if it's possible to feel another person's desire through vibrations in the air. Edward looks up at him, trembling slightly and lips parted and golden eyes swiveling from his face to his mouth like he's not sure what just happened but knows he wants more. There's curiosity there, along with fear and lust (Roy Mustang knows lust, lust he can deal with). What happens next is inevitable.

This time when he kisses him Roy has the faintest intention to impress him. To make him want him just as much. To give him more than a how-to. He goes slowly, softly, intrigued that Edward is willing to let him lead. He tempts him with his tongue, never quite giving it to him. He shudders because they're too close and too warm and too quiet and he can hear every one of Edward's shattered breaths.

When they part again, this time with a soft wet sound, Edward's eyes are dark and deep and heavy and he gives a tiny "oh," as if suddenly aware of all of the implications of a kiss and just how wonderful even that small contact can be. (Yet another reason the Tringham boy should never be allowed near him.)

The boy has no idea what he's doing to him, or how much power he has. If he knew, there would be no stopping him. He's already seduced him through awkward propositions and unsophisticated petting. If his talents were honed…

For the first time in his life Roy doesn't know what move to make next. Half of him wants to abandon ship and half of him wants to lay Edward down and screw him senseless. Instead of either of those things, he gently reaches up to brush loose hair behind the blond's ear, shaking as he does so. Edward's skin is warm from attention, from a blush.

"I'm going to let you out," Roy says, wanting to kiss him again.

"Okay," Edward says, though he sounds vaguely disappointed beyond the dazed look in his eyes, the swollen pink of his lips. He makes no indication of leaving or even smoothing his hair down.

Roy lifts him onto the surface of the desk and grasps his hips tightly, claiming him again with his mouth in desperation as if addicted. Something in Edward snaps and the boy gasps before kissing him hard, aggressively wrapping his legs around his waist and tugging him down to his level. Roy must be losing his mind. Why else would he be dry humping Edward Elric in the middle of the night?

"Colonel—f-_fuck_ me, please—"

He can no longer deny that he wants this. The evidence is there, rock hard between's Edward's legs, and as soon as the blond notices he gives a little moan and his inexperienced body is quick to try and grind up into his. It wants more. No rhythm, no reason, just touch and friction and orgasm.

Roy keeps his distance, holds him in place, presses a kiss just below his ear. If he noticed the hard-on then he's probably thinking about the biological implications. Yes, Fullmetal, you are incredibly arousing and you've obliterated all of my walls, congratulations. "Your first lesson," he whispers, and Edward whines, "is to realize that sex isn't just about the climax."

Edward is wordless for once, eyes glazed over from stimulation. His hair is mussed and tangled and Roy can feel how hot he is. It makes him harder, if such a thing is possible, and he reaches to unbutton the blond's pants, whimpering from the soft heat of the leather. Edward's eyes go wide and he grabs for his shoulders urgently. "W-wait—"

Roy stops, fear that he's gone too far remaking the shackles of control. He reminds himself that Edward is sixteen years old and doesn't know anything about sex beyond clinical terminology and making out. "I'm just going to touch you, okay? I won't go any further than that, I swear. I would never hurt you."

"I didn't say you would," Edward mumbles, but nods his head, trusting him to make this work. That's a responsibility Roy accepts with pride. Carefully, and while watching to ensure he doesn't hurt him, Roy finishes undoing his pants and shudders as he dips his fingers down into his heat. He strokes him, breathing against his head, inhaling the scent of his hair and his skin. Edward is so aroused by this, whatever this is, that he's wet.

"Does that feel good?" Roy whispers into his ear, already knowing the answer. He moves his hand slow, steady, his reward coming in the form of inaudible moans and whimpers.

Edward closes his eyes and trembles. "Yes…"

Roy brushes his lips from his ear down his jaw, the blond's hair tickling his face. "Even now, I know I shouldn't be doing this. But how am I meant to stop when you look so goddamn beautiful?" He feels him pulsing in his hand, blood rushing through him. Hot and wet slips between his fingers and the extra sensuality makes Edward tighten his grip on his shoulders.

"Don't stop," Edward says, breath hitching. "Don't you dare fucking stop…"

Roy smirks and thinks he could probably get him to come within a few minutes of doing nothing but this. He suspects that wouldn't be much different from Edward touching himself, and he wants to satisfy him more powerfully than Russel Tringham or some softcore porn ever could. So after a bit more gratuitous, slow stroking and soft begging from Ed, he stops.

Edward glares at him and is about to tell him to fuck off, Roy's sure, but the colonel bets he'll change his tune once he's done with him. The older man presses close to him, between his legs, and kisses his neck, his jaw, down to the hollow of his throat where he licks a hot wet line. His skin tastes like seawater and honey.

Roy touches him as if he can't not, emboldened by his heady noises and shy, reciprocated kisses. There's so much trust in his eyes. Even so, Roy is aware that the boy is watching his every move as if paranoid about his intentions. He lets him touch, but he never gives himself completely.

Roy kisses him and moves with him and twines fingers in soft hair. Cloth rustles cloth. Skin brushes skin. It's never enough. They're too constricted. Roy slides the blond's leather pants down his slim hips, just enough, and then he gives him a mischievous smirk, getting down on his knees. Nuzzling the dip of his hip. Kissing the inside of his thigh.

"Colonel—?" Edward questions with a soft whine, voice wrapped with confusion and desire. He is clasping the lip of the desk with white-knuckled hands.

Roy puts his mouth over him, moves his head experimentally, feels Edward's body tense beneath him and the blond nearly loses it right then and there, a moan caught in his throat. Sensing this, Roy keeps things slow, not wanting to overwhelm him.

"Mustang," Ed sobs, clenching his hands tightly. "Oh f-fuck…" He slams a hand over his mouth and tips his head back.

"Shhh…relax, darling…" Roy runs his hands down his thighs, squeezing gently, then goes back to using his mouth, his tongue, attuned to Edward's body and his pleasure and his heat. Edward is so wet he's dripping by now, and Roy swallows it with an encouraged groan.

The blond squirms, panting, moans muffled beneath his hand. His eyes are squeezed shut. He's trying so hard to stay quiet but there's no sense in it and Roy longs to hear him respond to this.

"There's no one here but us, Fullmetal," Roy whispers, lips pressed against his hip and then lazily caressing his skin. "You don't have to keep quiet for me, love…"

Edward hesitates, shuddering slightly, then removes his hand from his mouth. "C-colonel…I-I…" He tangles his hands in Roy's hair as the man takes him in his mouth again, crying out. "Roy—!"

Roy could do this for hours if he wanted to. Edward is fucking beautiful like this, vulnerable and exposed, moans keening higher as he gets more worked up. The blond is tight and shaking in all the right ways, trying not to jerk up into his mouth. Roy isn't completely shocked when the boy grinds up ever so often, but he takes it in stride, moving his head a little faster.

On a whim Roy squeezes his ass _hard_ and that does it. Edward is mostly silent as his orgasm consumes him like a wildfire, fingers tight in the man's hair as he arches his back and trembles violently. It lasts for a good few seconds—a good few seconds of Edward frozen in bliss, in sin, in the ebb and flow of life's most carnal chemical reaction.

Roy makes sure he's there with him, kissing him out of purgatory, when he comes to. Edward takes shallow breaths and clings to him, eyes open but dulled from satiation. How far gone is he?

"So," Roy rasps, "was I better than Russel Tringham?"

Edward snorts. "Much better," he says. "He sort of rubbed himself on me and wouldn't let me breathe. That was—fuck…" The blond speaks better with his actions then his words, and tugs the colonel in for a gentle kiss that feels like a 'thank-you.' Roy indulges him, ignoring his own straining erection for the time being. That can wait.

Edward is already getting better at this. That's terrifying.

They kiss for what feels like an eternity, slow and steady, wet and warm. Edward's metal arm is cold around his neck and his back aches and his mouth is tired but Roy can't stop, doesn't want to stop. He wants to memorize every nuance, every detail, of what it's like to make out with Fullmetal. That way even if this never happens again (as well it shouldn't) he will have plenty of fuel to get off on.

Edward is more than that, though. Isn't he?

Roy stops, closing his eyes and pressing his forehead to his. If they don't end this now, they never will. "You should go home," he whispers.

"I'm going to think about you tonight," Edward says quietly with a mischievous smirk. He's glowing from within. When he walked into the office earlier tonight, he was radiant, of course, but now there's another dimension to his light. Roy feels warm.

It's not unlike pleasure, but it seems more innocent than that. Like standing in strong sunlight. "I'll be thinking about you every damn minute until I can touch you again," Roy says, not exaggerating.

"And when will that be? When can you touch me again?"

"Soon."


End file.
